


Close Quarters

by thisiswhatthewatergaveme



Series: i couldn't participate in sbweek so i made this shitty collection instead [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Reluctant Attraction, Road Trips, Sam/Bucky Week 2016, Secret Mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswhatthewatergaveme/pseuds/thisiswhatthewatergaveme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bucky says, “Welcome to Wakanda,” and Sam says, “Just don’t get us thrown out of it,” and apparently it doesn’t come out as lightly as he means it to because boy does that smile fall away."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Written for #sbweek2016, Day One prompt: Attraction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Quarters

**Author's Note:**

> me: wait it was sbweek  
> me: but i missed it  
> me: unless i wRITE SOMETHING TINY FOR EVERY DAY I MISSED, STARTING TODAY  
> me, 4k words later: well

It’s the close quarters. Like, honestly, what else would it be? It’s the... It’s. Hm. Yes. Proximity. Non-stop proximity. Where else is Sam  _ supposed  _ to look when Bucky’s chest is between him and  _ God _ \-- 

 

“Sam.” He looks up. 

 

Natasha’s staring, her eyes cat-smooth, one fist under her chin. Bucky is sitting passenger to Steve’s driver, a long-sleeved t-shirt on, finally. Their RV goes over a speed bump. She doesn’t move an inch. 

 

“What?” Sam asks, a little testy, or rather, not testy at all, because what does he have to sound testy about? What could  _ possibly  _ be stressing him out, huh? It’s not like he just got caught doing, what? Daydreaming? How old is he? That isn’t even-- 

 

“Okay,” Natasha says evenly, “where do you keep going?”

 

“I have a headache,” he says, and the thing is, it’s not even a  _ lie _ .

* * *

 

They’d made it for a week, after the dust settled, before Steve’s Top Secret Burner Phone started ringing. Which, of course, he noticed immediately, because had he put it down once? Ha.

 

“What do you need?” he’d asked immediately, and his face had gone from relieved to solemn in half-point-five, and Sam had looked at Natasha had looked at Sam had ignored the man next to her and they broke like an organized effort, packed and ready to go before Steve managed to close his phone. 

 

“Are you guys...” He’d trailed off, caught sight of them standing, ready. Blushed a little. Grinned like he wasn’t their biggest problem. “Ready to go?”

* * *

Natasha’s contacts got them into Florida-- “Full of retirees-- you sure you don’t want us to drop you off?”-- but the RV was all Sam.

 

“It’s shit as a getaway car,” Bucky had said, dubious, and Sam had turned his back to him and pretended, in a mature, grown fashion, that he hadn’t said a word. 

“It’s not subtle, but it doesn’t have to be. An American family vacation? Nobody’s gonna look twice. It’ll get us most of the way there, and we’ll be able to rest cozy.” 

 

Bucky grimaced. Steve smiled. Natasha said, “I’ve never been on a cheesy 80s vacation” and Sam stared at her high five until she dropped it with a sigh. 

 

So, the close quarters? Sam’s fault, if asked directly. But. But if he’d  _ known _ . 

 

“Hey,” Bucky says, twelve hours in, barely making eye contact. “I was wrong. This was a pretty good, um. Method, I guess. Transportation  _ and  _ a good night’s sleep. Who woulda guessed?” And was that... was that supposed to be a  _ smile _ ?

 

He’s gone before Sam can answer him, so he feels a little bad, maybe. 

 

Huh. 

 

“You’re doing it  _ again _ ,” Natasha says, leaning forward,  _ fascinated _ .

“ _ What _ ?”

“You’re scowling.” She gestures between her own eyebrows. “You’re staring into space. Your mouth.” She pulls her lips together, too thin to be a pout. “Is it the-- oh. Is it seeing Tony again?”

 

She’s the one scowling, now. Sam, on the other hand, feels his face smooth out. 

 

“You had more of a relationship with Tony than I did,” he says. “I’m not looking forward to seeing him, but... him shooting me didn’t fundamentally change the way I thought of him. It just added to it.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how much I’d trust him in a fight, but we’re not with him on this, right?” 

 

“No,” she says thoughtfully. They aren’t; it’s a clean op. Powered girl, tense area, high population density in a low-income city. Tony’s hands, tied by rules he helped build, that he accepted. 

 

Sam shrugs. “His morals won out this time.” 

 

“This time,” Natasha repeats, like she’s reminding herself. It’s their turn to sleep. Sam’ll be driving in six hours. Still-- a part of him wants to tell Natasha every petty thing he’s kept to himself for the past thirteen-odd hours, but-- 

 

It’s not like it  _ means  _ anything. Maybe sleep is a good idea. 

* * *

When Steve busts them out, he tells them they’re free to go home.

Scott and Clint do. 

Wanda says, “I don’t know where that is,” and Sam watches Steve melt. 

 

“All the air fare’s paid,” Natasha says with a smile, and Sam, who has bruises turning his bruises black, sinks a little deeper into his seat and waits for lift-off. 

 

When they land in Wakanda, Bucky’s already there. There’s a moment-- 

 

Bucky has his hand held out, and Sam slaps it automatically, forgets that it isn’t Steve until Bucky’s already bopped his fist against his, and he’s smiling at him, tired and missing a few pieces but holding it together just fine. 

 

Bucky says, “Welcome to Wakanda,” and Sam says, “Just don’t get us thrown out of it,” and apparently it doesn’t come out as lightly as he means it to because  _ boy  _ does that smile fall away. 

 

Sam, quite frankly,  _ does not care _ . 

* * *

One week and thirty hours after the dust settles, Sam is flying on stolen wings, pulling people from a burning building, while in the courtyard below him, a girl screams and screams and screams. Every time the noise coming out of her mouth meets the air, fire erupts.

 

At this point, their only goal is evacuation. 

 

He flies. He flies and he dives and he breaks windows with his heels, spinning away and then back through to pull out a person or two at a time. The fire department’s already on the scene, so he hands some off to the ladder, coasts a few down to the ground. He’s cleared the top two floors, by now, and he won’t be any use inside, so he gets back down to the ground. 

 

He makes it around the corner in time to dodge the shout the girl sends his way. The girl-- Holly, that was her name, red hair, red berries-- is crying now, but when she swipes the tears away, those light up like sparks, too. 

 

Sam wonders, a little uncharitably, if she might just want to burn herself out. 

 

She’s whispering something. Speaking, Sam assumes, but fire is so  _ loud _ , so he edges closer, behind her, while her eyes are scrunched up, her hands moving in tight fists under her eyes. 

 

“You’re gonna have to speak up,” Sam hears Steve say, and he grits his teeth. There goes any hope of staying incognito. 

 

“She can’t,” he says, like it’s obvious, and when she turns to him, she doesn’t barbeque him immediately, which is something. She looks...  _ grateful _ ? 

 

“Any louder than-- what, can you whisper?-- more volume, more flammable material. Have I got it right? Just nod.” 

 

She nods-- and then tips her head from side to side, her mouth scrunched up.  _ Sort of _ . 

 

“Can you mouth it?” he asks, and chances just a step closer. She licks her lips. 

 

_ If I speak _ , she mouths, careful and a little slower than she needs to,  _ Fire happens. I don’t know how. It’s been getting worse. And then, this time...  _ She’s crying again. Now that Sam is close to her, he can see it-- the tracks down her face are a little darker than tears. Like she’s leaking gasoline. She takes a deep breath, and then grimaces. Coughs. A tiny plume of black smoke leaks from between her teeth.  _ This time _ , she mouths.  _ It hurt. And I couldn’t stop. Not until _ ... She shrugs. 

 

_ Now _ , Sam assumed. 

 

“We need to take you with us,” Steve says. He’d come up behind her, and when she hears him, she jumps. 

 

She looks at Sam, eyes wide. She swallows. 

 

Sam notices, for the first time, the little blinking green light at her throat. 

 

“Oh,” he says, “shit.”

* * *

Bucky, when Sam finds him, is moving people through the door. He’s covered in soot, his hair pushed back, and he has one hand on a person’s back, the other on another’s shoulder. His voice is soft, even when Sam gets right behind him.

 

“You’re okay. Head over to that truck so they can check you out, alright?” 

 

Sam isn’t sure he’s ever heard anybody sound so  _ gentle _ . And it’s not even the words, right, the words are basic, regular, utilitarian, but the  _ tone _ is-- 

 

Bucky turns towards him, his eyebrows creased together, his eyes wide and earnest and very, very bright.  “What do you need?” he asks. 

 

Sam, briefly, exits his body and gets a good, unwarranted look at himself. 

 

Upon re-entry he says, “Absolutely not.” 

 

Bucky frowns. “What?” 

“ _ I’m  _ not the one who needs your help,” Sam says, saving face immediately. And then he thinks of Holly, and that blinking light, and sobers up. “Right over here. We’ve got the problem contained, but-- we’re hoping you might know something about this.” 

* * *

Hypnotism. Fucking-- you know what? Fuck Tony and his tied hands.

 

_ Hypnotism _ .

* * *

Natasha had done her job with aplomb, as per usual, and the area was clear enough for them to slip away. Bucky snagged a shock blanket from one of the vans and slung it over Holly’s head, and they crept past the emergency response teams, down an alley, and into a waiting vehicle.

 

Their intended meeting place was a cafe four blocks south of where they’d stashed the RV. That had, of course, been the plan, when the plan was to stop the powered individual and turn them over to the relevant officials. 

 

But then Bucky’s face went slack and his eyes went cold and he said, “I know what this is,” and turned away from the girl like he couldn’t look at her any longer than necessary and-- 

 

Yeah. 

 

So they’re at a café with a girl who has her hands curled around a giant cup of ice water with the most miserable expression Sam’s seen on a kid since his nephew fell out of a tree at six years old, and Bucky is explaining what hypnotism has to do with a green light and how lucky Sam was to have seen a beacon that was clearly only meant for the girl in question, hidden under a tiny flesh-colored bandage, right above her pulse.

 

“It has to be carefully modulated,” he says, and then, “if I remember correctly,” hasty like he’s worried someone’ll think he’s with them, still, after all this time, after all his progress. “They never had to worry about me,” he says, quieter now. “They knew they had me, so a couple drafts of a new program on a desk, a presentation here and there, what did it matter?” He shrugs. “I know a lot, now.”

 

“Carefully modulated,” Sam says, because he’s not touching the rest of that, not right now, “what’s that mean? Someone close had to do this to her?”

 

“Yeah-- someone close had to  _ keep  _ doing this to her-- to you, I’m sorry,” he says to Holly, and there’s that earnestness again, his mouth in a solid frown. “You don’t deserve what’s happening to you, and we’re gonna do everything we can to fix it.” 

Holly smiles at him, and inside of her mouth, Sam can hear her roll an ice cube across her teeth. 

* * *

It’s the school nurse. Holly had asthma, first. It wasn’t anything, to get them to send her to the nurse once a day. Seat her in a dark room. Say things to her while that light blinked. Activate something dormant.

“For the good of mankind,” the nurse says, when Bucky gets his hands on them. And then the nurse says nothing. 

It takes Sam a minute to remember. To make sure Bucky stops. 

* * *

Bucky brings it up at a diner, a little ways out of town.

 

“She and Wanda probably have a lot to talk about. Or, at least, enough in common to help each other. I hope.” 

 

Sam doesn’t say that he thinks this’ll help Bucky, too, or that he’s noticed the way he is when he talks to her. Gentle.  _ Steady _ . Purposeful and confident and absent of the skittishness that took over when the violence that had made up so much of his life beforehand suddenly had nowhere to go. 

 

Sam says, “You’re good at this,” and Bucky scoffs. 

 

“I read quick,” he says. “And it’s a good thing, too. If I hadn’t been a nosy bastard she would’ve...” He shakes his head. “She was in trouble, now she’s not. Less so, anyway. All in a day’s work, huh?” He looks up at Sam from under his lashes. The way the sun’s hitting him, he looks like a work of art. 

 

Sam clears his throat and looks out the window. The RV is pulled up close, and he can see Steve talking to Holly. She’s smiling, and takes a break every few seconds to scribble something onto the small whiteboard hanging from her neck. Sam looks back down at his coffee. He should drink up; he’s got the first shift, wants to make it at least through the next state before giving the wheel up, preferably two. 

 

“It’s just too bad her life’s been uprooted,” Bucky says, and Sam-- Sam’s not looking up, okay, because he needs a  _ break _ , but peripherally he can see Bucky tilting his head, this way and that, forward and back, trying to catch his eye. 

 

“She seems happy enough with her choice,” Sam says tightly, burying his face in steam when he brings his mug up to his lips. “We’re gonna have to trust that. And anyway-- it’s not forever, right?”

 

“Do you think it could be?” Bucky asks, and this time, because his voice sounds small and like it’s daring to be pleased, because Sam is  _ weak _ ,  _ this  _ time, Sam looks up, just as Bucky says, “I mean, if she wanted it to be? Do you think she  _ could  _ want it to be?”

 

Bucky can’t hold his eye. He keeps glancing away, and then back, like he can’t find anything safe enough to focus on. It’s weirdly endearing. 

 

“Are we still talking about--” Sam cuts himself off. He doesn’t want to know. 

 

But Bucky’s raised eyebrow and the tilt of his smirk have him wondering. 

* * *

In the RV, they find out that Tony is pissed. Hearing Steve’s side from the front seat makes it sound like a custody battle. When Sam glances into the rearview mirror, he sees Holly’s got a death grip on her board, her eyes wide and her lips tight.

 

In a move he never would’ve seen himself making, he says, “Bucky,” and nods towards the back. 

 

He sits with her until she falls asleep. 

 

Steve tells Tony to lose his number until he remembers who the enemy is, who people are really afraid of, who they  _ need  _ to be afraid of-- and then adds, quietly, so as not to disturb Holly: “I’m starting to worry it might be you.”

 

Next to him, Natasha quips, “He still loves you. You’ll work it out,” but it doesn’t sound like enough of a joke. 

 

Sam turns on the radio.

 

* * *

 

When Bucky starts to drive, Sam takes shotgun. Bucky looks surprised. 

 

“What?” Sam demands. “All the beds are taken.  _ And  _ the couch. In case you haven’t noticed--”

“I like company,” Bucky says quietly, and keeps his eyes on the road. Sam glares at the side of his head. He starts to smile. 

_ Yeah, well, I don’t like  _ you, is what Sam  _ should  _ say, it’s just... The words don’t come out soon enough, and then it’s too late to say  _ anything _ , and Bucky’s smiling out the windshield like a sociopath and Sam... 

 

Sam turns on the radio. It’s a soft R&B pop song from the 90s, and Bucky hums along to it under his breath, and  _ no _ , Sam is not going to  _ smile  _ at that, it’s  _ so _ \-- 

 

“You were really,” Bucky starts, and stops. “You didn’t. How did you know to go up to her, like that?”

 

Sam shrugs. “She wasn’t firing at people.” Ha. Firing. “And when I got closer-- look, that building was full. But all the damage was to property. And the way she was screaming-- people don’t do that unless there’s a problem. She was trying to say something to Steve, and she was crying, and I just...” He shrugs again. “I worked rescue, man. I’m here to save who I can. If fighting is required, so be it. If it’s not, I can still do my job. That hasn’t changed.” 

 

“Wow,” Bucky says, but it’s quiet and automatic and it sounds like he means it, and if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d call that a flush. “I mean, I knew you were a PJ, I just didn’t...”

 

“Know firsthand?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky says awkwardly, and turns the volume up. It’s a Madonna song, and it isn’t long before his nose is wrinkling and he’s turning it right back down again. 

 

“I guess this is our life now, huh?” Sam says, because to hell with it. If they’re having a conversation, it can keep going. He can do this. “Avenging in secret. Coming in when the bureaucracy fails. Again.” Bucky snorts. 

 

“I’m not an Avenger.” 

 

“No, you’re not,” Sam agrees, frowning. “You’re a  _ Secret  _ Avenger. Do you ever listen?”

 

That might be the first time he’s heard Bucky laugh. It’s short and surprised and rusty as hell, but it’s also delighted. 

 

Bucky looks at him and looks away, so fast it makes Sam’s neck hurt. 

 

And there’s that blush again. 

* * *

After that, Sam sleeps. When he wakes up, they’re in Florida again. He turns over, and Bucky’s lying on the bed on the other side of the cabin, looking up at the ceiling. He can hear Steve and Natasha taking Holly on board the jet, right outside. He’s got a minute, at least.  

 

“Someone’ll come pick this bad boy up,” he says, for something to say, patting the wall near his head. “Its days of vacation travel aren’t over just yet.” 

 

“Wish we could take it with us,” Bucky mutters. 

 

“You have a perfectly nice bed at-- the compound,” Sam says, swinging himself up to sitting. He’d almost said  _ at home _ , but that seemed a little premature. 

 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, and sits up to face him. “Is this how missions always go, with you guys?”

 

Sam snorts. “This was a milk run. Usually it’s a little more...” He gestures at Bucky, and Bucky-- 

 

He doesn’t shut down completely, no. Doesn’t close himself off. Just nods, once, like he’s accepting something, and looks away, stands up like he’s heading off to leave. 

 

“I didn’t--” He pauses in the doorway. Sam swallows. “I didn’t mean that you-- Jesus.” He drags a hand down his face and stands up. “I keep throwing that at you, I know, and I’m sorry, but you’ve gotta give a guy some time to adjust.” 

 

Bucky turns back to him, frowning a little. “Sam,” he says, “I’d give you anything you need.” 

 

He looks at Sam for a moment longer, and then smiles, almost, and turns to step out of the RV. 

 

He’s gone, and Sam is there, and Sam is... 

 

Sam’s not sure  _ where  _ he is or  _ what _ that was, but he’s-- 

 

Oh  _ no _ . 

* * *

“Job well done, Wilson,” Natasha says on the jet, and grins at him, tugging at the straps across his chest. “You  _ should  _ be celebrating, but instead... eyebrows.”

 

“Have you ever been completely betrayed by your own fool self?” Sam asks in a half-whisper, objectively horrified. 

 

Natasha’s brow furrows, and then smooths out. She looks farther down the cabin. Her eyebrows fly wide. She looks  _ delighted _ . 

“ _ Sam _ , you--” 

 

“Not,” Sam says, a full whisper now, because even his lungs have given up on him, “a word.” 

* * *

In Wakanda, Wanda takes to Holly like a bird to a flock and leads her away, talking faster and surer than Sam’s heard her yet. She may or may not be intermittently diving into Holly’s head, but both girls look thrilled to have someone enough like them to, maybe, let them feel less alone.

 

The compound they live on is close enough to the palace for officials to keep an eye on them, and far enough away for plausible deniability. It means that there’s no one around to see them land, but also no customs to go through and no fanfare to weather. It means that Holly and Wand go off one way and Sam goes his own way and is allowed, hypothetically, to crash for ten hours without being disturbed. 

 

That is, of course, not counting Natasha weaseling her way into his room before he’s so much as undressed. 

 

“A little birdy made it pretty clear that  _ said  _ little birdy has a vested interest in our second favorite icicle,” she hums, dropping onto Sam’s bed before he gets there. He groans and drops onto it anyway, facefirst, so that she can barely hear his rebuttal. 

 

“Not a bird.” 

“Sure you aren’t.” 

“Not little.” 

“Well.” He leans up just enough to see her shrug, grinning at him. “I’ll give you that one.” He wonders if he can get away with shoving her off the mattress. 

 

“Vested interest is an overstatement,” Sam assures her. “I just... like him more than I feel is... completely... necessary.” 

 

“He must be thrilled.” 

 

“He will be,” Sam agrees, “when I never speak to him again.” 

 

There’s a knock at his door, and then a blond head is poking its way around. 

 

“Hey,” Steve says. “Do we need to debrief at all or...?” 

 

The coughing fit Natasha puts on is loud and offensive and maybe if Sam buries his face in his comforter again, it won’t be happening. 

“Hey, Steve,” Natasha says. “What’s Bucky think of Sam?” Sam definitely absolutely doesn’t turn his head just enough to catch sight of Steve  _ rolling his eyes _ ?

“ _ Plenty _ ,” Steve says and, oh, that’s great, that’s wonderful, he sounds  _ annoyed _ , “Please,  _ please  _ tell me he’s finally said some of it to you.” 

“They don’t talk,” Natasha says smugly. 

“We chat,” Sam says, offended. He sits up. “But if he’s complaining about me--” 

“Most of the complaining is about himself,” Steve says, confused. “He thinks the world of you. He was just saying that you--” Steve’s mouth falls open, a little, and then he starts to smile. “That you two needed to talk. That’s, uh, that’s the other thing I was coming over here to say to you. Are you free in five minutes?”

 

Sam throws his hands up and flops back onto the mattress. “I’m free  _ in  _ five minutes  _ for  _ five minutes, and then I’m going to sleep and none of you will see me for a day.” 

 

“Great!” Steve says, and bolts. Natasha laughs herself off of the bed. 

 

Still-- in five minutes Sam goes into their middle room and sits on the couch and tries to pretend he isn’t as grouchy about still being conscious as he is. Bucky comes in a moment later and leans against the wall, his arms crossed. 

 

“Really,” he says. Sam looks at him. He shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d come out here.” 

 

Sam blinks at him. He feels like each eye has gained five pounds, and he isn’t in the mood to struggle for much longer. 

 

“Steve said to,” he says dumbly, and rubs at his eyes. “Said that you... something, man, I don’t know.”

 

“Yeah, um--” Bucky is next to him in three strides, and sitting down next to him.  _ Next to him _ next to him, his prosthetic arm over the back of the couch behind him. Sam looks at his arm first, and then at him. There’s some kind of disconnect happening. He blinks at him. “Um,” Bucky says again, and then seems to stall out. 

 

“I figured,” he says, his voice lightly panicked, “Steve was really-- I mean, he hasn’t told a solid lie in his life, you know? So I knew he’d said something to you, and I figured if you’d gone along with it, then you-- but if you didn’t, that’s-- I can--” 

 

“Steve lied?” Sam asks, frowning. “About what? What’s happening, here?”

 

“Um,” Bucky says,  _ again _ , but this time, oh,  _ this  _ time Sam sees how bright his eyes have gotten, and how that’s only because of how red the rest of him has gotten. 

 

“What,” Sam says, and Bucky--

He pulls away. 

 

“Don’t worry about it, Wilson,” he says roughly, and gets to his feet. “Good job on...” He waves his hand behind him, encompassing, Sam assumes, the last few days. 

 

“You too,” Sam says weakly. 

 

The worst part is that Steve comes around the corner just then, just in time to say, “Buck!” and Sam might not have superhearing, but he can definitely hear Bucky say, “You’re an idiot,” hot and embarrassed, and, oh, god, he’s too tired for this. 

 

“Bucky?” Steve calls weakly, but Bucky’s door is closed and probably staying that way. Steve looks to Sam. 

 

“Was this,” Sam asks, “was this an ambush?” and Steve has the audacity to shrug. 

* * *

“Wow,” Natasha says over cereal the next morning. Afternoon. Who cares. It’s a day off. “So, basically,” she says, sucking a marshmallow off the end of her spoon, “he put the moves on you, you were too tired to realize that rebuking them made him think you  _ rejected  _ it, and now you, what? Intend to hide from two out of the six people staying at this house? That’s a third, Sam. Sam, that’s a lot.”

 

“I’m going to talk to him!” 

 

“ _ When _ ?”

 

“Eventually! God, it’s not like this matters that much to him. I’m pretty sure he was just embarrassed.” 

 

“You’re wrong.”

 

And it turns out that Nat was right about a third being a lot, because Steve is standing there with no warning and Sam didn’t even make it three hours without bumping into one of them. Amazing. 

 

“Steve--”

“Hang on,” Steve says, scowling at the ceiling. “This is-- this is my fault, I should’ve let it be, but, god, _Sam_. He’s-- if you’re not interested, of course, just, you know, let him down easy, I’d never force you into this, but-- right, listen. Kind, cool, handsome, brave, heroic, _dashing_. _Beautiful_. That’s how he talks about you. It’s non- _stop_. And I can’t--” Steve puts a hand over his face and lets it fall. “It’s _so_ _much_. I just want it to stop.” 

Natasha accidentally snorts out a mouth full of milk.

 

“Did he ever call him altruistic?” she asks, once she’s stopped coughing and the tears have stopped flowing. “Because  _ you  _ aren’t.” 

 

“Natasha,” Steve says plaintively. And then, “But actually, yes.” 

* * *

So sue him, Sam’s knocking on the door. The least he can do is give Bucky a chance to explain himself.

 

“Steve,” Bucky says, as the door is opening, “I already told you, I don’t want to-- oh. Uh.” Sam watches him swallow. Watches the way his eyes dart away immediately. How  _ nervous _ he is. “Hey, I-- hey.” 

 

“Hi,” Sam says. “Can I come in?”

 

Bucky’s room is army-clean, and there’s a book-- a sci-fi novel, from the looks of it-- lying open on the chair in the corner. It looks a lot more peaceful than he does. 

 

“So,” Sam says, not looking at him, not tracking the way he moves deeper into the room, the way he fidgets like he can’t make his skin sit straight. “I’m gonna need you to be a little clearer than you were last night.” 

 

“I--” He swallows again. 

 

“I’ll wait,” Sam says, and crosses his arms, like they’re playing chicken, like this isn’t something that matters in a weird, sudden way. 

 

“I,” Bucky says, slow and halting, “like you. And I get that you don’t-- and why you wouldn’t-- and it’s fine, I just. Um. Do. And it’s-- and I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable, because more than anything, I like having you around, and wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. So.” 

 

Sam blinks at him. Bucky looks at him, and then away again, and then back before he finds something, apparently, that makes him stand up a little straighter, calms him down. 

 

“What?” Sam asks.

“You aren’t running out of here,” he says with half a smile, “so I can’t have spooked you too bad.” 

“Steve said you called me dashing,” is what falls out of Sam’s mouth and, oh well, if he’s here anyway. “How did  _ that  _ come up?”

 

“Oh,” Bucky says. Sam wonders if he’ll be able to make him turn red like this forever. It’s a hell of a power trip. “That’s-- I was looking you up. With Steve. There was a picture of you in your dress uniform.” 

 

“And,” Sam asks, taking a step closer. “Beautiful?”

 

“Watching you fly,” Bucky breathes, his eyes going wide. Sam takes another step. 

 

“Altruistic?”

 

“You were talking about Holly, why you didn’t shoot when you had the shot. Why you saved her.” Sam takes another step, and another. Bucky’s eyes are dancing again, but it’s from his eyes to his mouth, like he can’t quite believe enough to hope for it.

 

“And handsome?” Sam grins. One more step. 

 

“Have you  _ seen  _ you?” Bucky asks, and grins back. And then his hands are around the small of Sam’s back and he’s pulling him forward until they’re chest to chest, smiling wider than Sam’s ever seen him. 

 

“Really?” Bucky asks on a breath. His eyes are on Sam’s mouth. Sam smiles. 

 

He kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> i LOVE awkward love confessions they fuel me and keep me ALIVE 
> 
> thanks 4 reading i'm on tumblr [@thisurlisblank](http://thisurlisblank.tumblr.com) and i will probably edit this note later gotta run by e


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